


Déjà Vu

by williamastankova



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Confusion, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hugs, Hurt Billy Hargrove, M/M, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 17:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: When Steve gets too drunk and stranded at a party, Billy begrudgingly promises himself he'll get him home safely. Only, doing so triggers Steve to say something that just about ruins Billy's weekend - and, very possibly, his life.





	Déjà Vu

__

Billy didn't _care_. For all he cared, Steve could have made his own way home. So what if he got mugged on the way back? It was his own fault for being such a lightweight drinker. By the time Billy had even located him at the party, Steve was shit-faced. He'd pretty much single-handedly emptied the punch bowl, and he was dancing on top of a table. Billy shook his head, staring up at him, but took it upon himself to keep a loose eye on him throughout the night.

At around two, the place started emptying out, and things gradually got more boring. In retrospect, it was the severe lack of things to do that drove Billy to locate Steve (on the floor, in the bathroom, singing to his own feet) and pick him up, sighing and murmuring to him, "Jesus Christ, Harrington."

Steve grinned stupidly up at him, "Billy!" He said his name so affectionately, Billy nearly dropped him there and then. "Come to look after me, then?"  
"Yeah, something like that," Billy agreed reluctantly, "How'd you get here, then?"

Steve looked dumbfounded for a moment, like Billy wasn't making any sense, but then made an 'o' with his mouth and said, "Oh, yeah! Tommy gave me a ride. He left earlier, though. Said he was going to Carol's."

"Dick," Billy whispered, under his breath, and shook his head in disapproval. Even if he was an asshole, he wouldn't do that - not ever. Steve had obviously been relying on Tommy for a ride home, but he'd left him stranded for the simple chance of getting his dick sucked. What a shitty move.

He put Steve's arm around his shoulder as they neared the staircase, so he didn't fall and break his neck. That was something Billy couldn't deal with, because he'd be brought into questioning, and God knows Hopper had had enough of him and his family already. He chose to ignore how Steve took the opportunity to nudge his head into his neck, and only flinched when his hair tickled his neck. Surely, they finally got down, and Billy struggled out of the doorway and towards his car.

He went around to the passenger door, swinging it open awkwardly whilst keeping an arm around Steve's unsteady waist. Trying to simultaneously mind Steve's head on the roof and his feet as he stepped into the vehicle, Billy loaded Steve into the car, and tried his best to sound frustrated when he said, "Buckle your seat belt."

Steve eyed him briefly, then began fiddling with the clasp. In the meantime, Billy went around to his side and tried to recount how much he'd had to drink. Not too much, thankfully, not over the limit anyway. Perhaps he'd subconsciously stopped himself, because the first thing he'd seen was how wasted Steve was. Maybe he'd planned to help him out all along. Whatever.

When he clambered into the driver's seat, he looked over to Steve, who was looking increasingly more perplexed by the complexity of Billy's car. He seemed to give up as he flew forward, beginning instead to mess around with Billy's radio, flipping between stations before really hearing what was playing. Billy groaned.  
"Hey, no, Steve, stop-" he batted Steve's hands away from the controls, then pushed him back into his seat with a hand planted firmly in the center of his chest. "Here..."

He leaned over Steve, tugging the belt back over and threading Steve's arm through the appropriate gap, then putting it in the lock and sitting back in his own seat, exhaling loudly, running his hands down his face and sitting, exhausted, for a moment.

"I'm sorry."

Steve's voice sounded broken as he apologised, and Billy's throat became clogged. It wasn't Steve's _fault_  - even if he drank a little too much (okay, a lot too much), he didn't have to feel bad. Not _that_  bad, anyway. Still, not wanting to engage any further melancholy conversation, Billy simply removed his hands from his face and placed them on the steering wheel, nodding in acknowledgement, and turned the car on, then pulled out of his parking space and onto the desolate roads.

The drive was relatively quiet, at first, until he had to ask Steve to direct him to his house.  
"It's, uh... the next right, I think." Billy followed this instruction, but suddenly - too late - Steve proclaimed, "No! Wait, I meant left. Sorry."

"It's fine, Steve." Billy was tired, but he couldn't handle an upset Steve on top of everything else, so he decided to swallow his frustration. "Just... I'll go down here."

He drove into the nearest turn off, where he could quickly pull a u-turn and get them back on the right track. As instructed, he went to the left, and then said, "Which way now?"  
"Just, go straight." Steve mumbled, then his brain obviously went off on a tangent. "What's up with you, Billy?"

"Hmm?" He asked, taken truly by surprise. "What d'ya mean?"  
"I mean, what's changed? Why are you doing this?"  
Billy barked out a laugh, "What, saving your drunk ass, you mean? Well, wouldn't want you to get taken advantage of now, would I, pretty boy?"

He could see Steve's smile widen even just in his periphery with his words. "That's it?"  
"That's what?"  
"That's why you're driving me home?" Steve explained, "Or, in your eloquent words, 'saving my drunk ass'?"  
"Oh, yeah." He smirked, "That's why."

The car went quiet once more, but Billy's smile grew and he had to add, "That, and I can't wait to see the look on your parents' faces when your ass comes home pissed, at two in the morning."  
"Half two," Steve corrected, eyeing him cheekily. "And I'm afraid you're not gonna get that satisfaction tonight, Harrington."

Half-faking a frown, he asked, "Why not?"  
"They're out of town." Steve shrugged, "Can't remember what they're doing. Don't really care, just means I can get in and up without a hardcore lecture. Oh, and it's just the next left, then the first house on the right."

"Are you gonna be okay to get upstairs on your own?" Billy despised the concern he heard in his own voice. He took the turn, then stopped the car, turning the engine off and sitting in the dark, finally getting to look properly at Steve.

He was in some costume Billy didn't recognise, probably from a film Billy hadn't had the means to see yet. It was a Halloween party, Billy knew, and so he'd opted to wear the most general outfit he could find: a pair of tight black jeans, with his favourite leather jacket. It was funny, how people were desperate to guess who he was. Somebody had even said he resembled the Terminator, which had made him chuckle. In reality, he wasn't dressed as anybody, though the suggestions made by some of his peers inspired him for next year.

Steve, though, had clearly tried. His outfit was neat, and parts even looked sewn. Billy briefly wondered whether Steve had done that himself, or handed the fabric to his mother or grandmother to do for him. Regardless, Steve was... pretty. When he said it before, Billy had meant it to be derogatory. It was meant to offend Steve, to chip away at his manhood. But now... it was the only word that could fit the sight. Steve, all pink-flushed face and messy, gelled hair, was indescribably pretty. Billy swallowed and looked away, back out the window at Steve's house.

"Pfft," Steve made a little mocking noise, batting a hand dismissively in Billy's direction, "I'll be fine."

He rose from his seat, forgetting to unbuckle himself at first, then swung Billy's door open with just a little more force than necessary, and swivelled in his sitting position to get out. Flinging his legs onto the pavement, he wobbled as he stood, then fell back down altogether, making Billy utter a, "shit", and scramble out of the car, to his side.  
"You alright, man?"

Billy quickly searched Steve's head for any physical signs of a concussion, then attempted to get Steve to count how many fingers he was holding up. Steve rolled his eyes, then grabbed his hand and moved it away from his face. Using Billy's leather-clad shoulder, Steve hoisted himself up, then wrapped both arms around Billy's neck, trapping him in a... what was this?

"You're strangling me!" He proclaimed, and wriggled in Steve's iron-clad grasp.  
Steve sighed, breath hot on his neck. "No, Billy, I'm hugging you."  
"Oh."

Feeling at a loss, Billy stupidly patted Steve on the back, grimacing when doing so resulted in Steve's grip tightening. He eventually managed to pry Steve's hands from him, and when he asked what that was for, he only got a tight-lipped grin from Steve in response. Shaking the thought from his mind, he took Steve's arm and put it over his shoulders again, then settled his own hand around Steve's waist.

In minimal time (and with only a few interruptions from Steve stopping for absolutely no reason), they were at the Harrington household's front door, and he had asked Steve for the keys.  
"Find them."

Billy blinked in disbelief. "What?"  
"Find them," Steve repeated, then raised his arms. "They're on me, promise."

Billy couldn't suppress his sigh this time. Solemnly, and knowing he couldn't get Steve to give it up any other way, he started searching. First, he checked the pockets on his jacket, that protected him from the icy winds Billy's exposed chest had fallen victim to. Nothing. Then, he moved the wings of the jacket to expose Steve's white cotton shirt, and he searched the pockets on his chest. Again, nothing.

Growing tired already, Billy moved down, kneeling before Steve's frozen, T-shaped frame. Exhaling once more, watching the smoke rise from his mouth into the cold air, and waved goodbye to his dignity. Then, he stuck one hand into Steve's right jean pocket, and found a half-empty packet of gum. In the other, he swiftly retrieved a piece of paper, which when he scanned it turned out to be a receipt for the aforementioned gum.

Feeling more exasperated than ever, Billy stood, then grasped Steve by the shoulder and spun him around, surprising even himself with how willing Steve seemed to go with his actions. He thought about kneeling again, but doing so felt ridiculous. After all, he could just use both hands this time and pat both of Steve's remaining pockets, and the keys had to be in one of them. With the size of Steve's back pockets, there was no way he'd miss the feeling of keys (well, maybe just a single key) in there. So, bracing himself, he pressed his hands to Steve's behind, telling himself it wasn't like he was cupping his ass in _any way_ , and breathed out a sigh of relief so heavy when he felt the outline of a key that it blew Steve's hair into a new position.

Digging quickly into the pocket, he pulled out the key and wordlessly inserted it into the door and pushed it open, ignoring the sound of Steve's pleased sniggering behind him. He guided Steve inside, then closed over the door, removing the key from the lock, not bothering to fully lock it as he knew he'd be in and out. Steve slumped against him, slurring, "I'm so tired" into his ear. With a hand on Steve's back, he urged him up the stairs, and assumed he'd to straight to his bedroom, as an automatic response.

To his luck, he did. In next to no time, they were creaking open the door to Steve's bedroom, and Steve was beaming, falling backwards onto his bed. As he looked more than ready to doze off, Billy moved quickly, barely whispering to himself as he sat Steve up and attempted to smoothly remove his surprisingly tight jacket. Seeming grateful to be released from the garment, Steve fell back and writhed into his pillows, enjoying the feeling of the material on his newly revealed skin.

Shaking his head, Billy let the corner of his mouth tweak up just a little, and then he moved down to Steve's feet. Untying the black laces of his boots, he slipped the shoe off with minimal effort, then worked just as easily on the other. Steve's toes, with a mind of their own, curled and unfurled, desperate to feel the air once again. Billy, feeling like his job was nearly done, moved up Steve's body once again, and gently lifted and bent his legs, tucking them into the comforter (which, thankfully, already had a corner folded down), then pulled it up to Steve's neck, sure to keep him warm.

The final surprise of his night came when Steve's hands shot up, catching him by the wrists. The boy looked at him semi-intently, holding bleary eye contact, and let out a small whine of a noise, which Billy had no doubt said, "I love you."

Then, after that, Steve let him go, and his eyes fell shut. A moment of Billy standing, stunned into silence, passed before Steve began snoring softly, and Billy was sure he was asleep. Gradually, he retreated out of Steve's room, pausing only shortly to admire Steve for the last time, and then he was gone. He closed the door behind him, all but ran down the stairs, and let himself out, sure to lock the door behind him and post the key through the letter box.

Quiet now, alone in the street, Billy returned to his car, climbed into the driver's seat, and refused to look at where Steve had been sitting, not ten minutes ago. He turned on the engine, turned up the music, and tried not to think about what Steve had said. He failed.

It was a mistake. Steve was drunk, and he didn't know what he was saying. In fact, he might've not even recognised who was bringing him home. Between his feminine eyes and curly dark-blonde hair at night, there was a high chance Steve figured he was brought home by Wheeler. Whatever, it didn't matter.

He turned onto the main road, and ignored any more thoughts he had about the boy he'd just dropped off. After all, it was enough that he'd have to see him on Monday morning - two days time, his brain repeated like a mantra - and so the least he could do for himself was give himself that time to take a break.

God knows he'd need it.

**Author's Note:**

> sudden inspiration took me. hope you enjoyed! may or may not continue this, depending on how inspired I feel to write new chapters. 
> 
> thanks for reading! :)


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